Tag Archives: England

I write today on behalf of the other six continents of the world, to have a chat about what you’re up to tomorrow.

Firstly, though, I don’t want this to be just about politics – we’re more civil than that aren’t we? How are you? How’s your day been? What awful weather you’re having!1

Right, small talk over with, I urge you to at least consider the impact tomorrow’s election on us, the rest of the world. There’s a chance that with the storm raging outside and blowing uprooted campaign picket signs against your windows you tried to escape the election by taking to the internet and opting for a slice of Britain instead. Instead, you will be sorely disappointed, because you all vote on our collective behalf for the man who will become/stay the President of pretty much the Western World. So don’t blow it.

In order to represent my thoughts on the matter – which you are, as always, more than welcome to ignore, dismiss, sweep under the rug or print out and piss on as a gesture of badwill – allow me to tell you the story of my people.2 (It is not a very good story.)

The UK government is, at present, an impotent disappointment, or as it’s officially known, a Coalition Government, which was the outcome of two parties having to merge together to get a majority share of seats in Parliament. The Conservatives (right wing/the 1%) merged with the Liberal Democrats (neither as liberal nor as democratic as Labour) to oust the incumbents. The Conservatives don’t represent the majority of Britons and the government doesn’t even represent them.

You might have seen the pudgy over-privileged face of our current Prime Minister, a Mr. David Cameron. I did not vote for ‘Call me Dave ‘cause I’m just like you’ Cameron,3 but other people did, and that’s democracy. The whole country voted and instead we got a Parliament that nobody directly voted for. Progress!

However, I mention The Little Government That Nobody Wanted to illustrate a point; all Cameron had to do to get elected was to say ‘You know that guy? Well I’m not him.’ He did this by using the word ‘change’ quite a lot in his campaign. Your average voter won’t demand anything more from a politician, and thus change was effected.4

Anyway, the actual point: whatever your political leaning, I urge you not to be gullible.5 I understand your right wing news networks are depressingly effective at spreading what amounts to little more than the word ‘bullshit’ sung over and over again to the tune of The Star Spangled Banner.6 I am lucky to have a genuinely impartial broadcaster (the BBC) to provide me with my news, but in this day and age, a candidate’s public persona is by far their most important asset, and that’s controlled by the media in all its multifarious forms.

Fear of public disapproval guides far too many decisions to allow real progress in any direction, especially as it’s now easier than ever to have your voice heard. Elections are one of those rare occasions when everyone’s opinion is exactly as valuable as everyone else’s, regardless of what it’s based on or how well informed it is. And in theory, that’s marvelous.

In the last twenty years, pattern emerge in governments worldwide; most of the adventurous, genuinely revolutionary legislation happens at the end of the leader’s term of office, because they don’t have to save face in order to get re-elected. A new government’s main venture is usually just a redistribution of funding; big legislation won’t happen until there’s either a furore or a lull. It’s also worth noting (although perhaps this is less so in the States) that a different political party in power does not necessarily mean the entire cabinet changes hands. Most of the people who make decisions that will directly affect you – your Leslie Knope’s and your Ron Swanson’s – will keep their positions but have the priority of their jobs shuffled, and finances will follow accordingly.

If change is what you want, you’re (in principle) better off allowing the current government to carry out its full plan.

I’m not obliquely trying to influence your vote, because I’m ultimately powerless, over here on my little island, typing my ignorable words, but please be aware that American Exceptionalism ends at your coastlines and you don’t want to look stupid in front of the United Nations. I imagine Mr. Romney will/would be devastated to learn that his UN diplomacy desk (complete with miniature flag!) is exactly the same size as everyone else’s and he’ll have to put his hand up to ask questions.7

***

I promise I won’t talk politics again, or at least that if I do, you won’t have to care because it won’t directly affect you, and that it will hopefully be funnier. I am really looking forward to y’all’s blogs as Election Day takes hold, whatever the outcome. I’m genuinely excited to hear the experiences of actual Americans for the first time!

In less serious news, I went to see James Bond and he’s smashing.

1 The evil part of me is writing this whole post as an excuse to publish this abhorrently tasteless joke.

2 It’s interesting that I write this on November 5th, which, in the UK at least, is the commemorative day of the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, in which some anarchists tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament. A bloke called Guido ‘Guy’ Fawkes was found in the catacombs with the guilty match and 36 barrels of the stuff and was hung, drawn and quartered for his trouble. Us Brits set light to a straw man as a reminder that either what-we-now-call-terrorism will get you killed once and then burned again every year after, or that the government is accountable to us – I’ve forgotten which.

You might recognise his distinctive face from it’s use as a mask in Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta, and more recently from the Occupy protests and the internet activists Anonymous. There’s been a slight shift in meaning to Guy’s face over the centuries, and it’s interesting to perhaps consider that all notoriety fades in time, and the meaning of a symbol is defined only by it’s popularity. I wonder which symbols of our current age will be slightly misappropriated in 400 years time?

3 If you would like to know more about UK Prime Minister David Cameron’s failure to properly achieve the one thing he was born and raised to do, please divert your attention to frighteningly cerebral stand-up Stewart Lee. Morrisey’s let himself go.

4 In a similar manner to Sandy’s raging along the US East Cost, David Cameron seized a marketing opportunity when floods hit the UK by popping on wellies and standing in a puddle and looking to the heavens as if asking ‘why?’ The answer was ‘The water cycle’ but he wasn’t looking for answers, he was looking for people to believe he was doing something about the floods whilst the incumbent PM did nothing. Neither man was, is or ever will be a Weather God, but this stunt apparently worked a treat. Let this be a lesson: on no account should Mitt Romney be aloud to win votes just because he owns wet weather gear.

6 Obama is not a Muslim, and is American. In fact – this’ll annoy you – (and if you’re playing the race card in 2012 you deserve at least a little annoyance) two of my legally British friends are voting tomorrow, because they were born in Cincinnati, OH and Corpus Christi, TX and then emigrated. That’s all it takes, and Obama ticks that box.

6 As a rule, if the opposing argument would be equally effective if the word ‘AMERICA’ was dropped in at strategic points then it’s probably not worth listening to.

If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to gush a little more about the Olympics. I’ve already said a great deal in the comments of my previous post, but I’d like to take the opportunity to organise my thoughts and move on from just doing blogs about different countries all the time. This post is not particularly funny, per se,1 but I want to record my feelings at this moment so that I can look on them in years to come. You’re welcome to skip it, if you’ve had enough of all that, and you’ll be pleased to know that there’s a proper post going up very soon.

I’m not particularly athletic, and I’m not incredibly competitive either; the product of being a small skinny child. I never took PE lessons too seriously; I’d joke around or make up new sports or provide ‘hilarious’ commentary, and then play football all lunch instead. As far as my teachers were concerned, however, I was so unremarkable that I had two report cards that got my name wrong. And not ‘Kris’ wrong. ‘Thomas’ or ‘James’ wrong.

My relationship with most sport is that of a spectator: I love watching tennis and cricket, but out national sport is football (soccer) and I find it very difficult to get behind a ‘sport’2 that seems to encourage division along lines of where people are from and what colour t-shirt they’ve got on, and that rewards ludicrously overpaid pronks3 with the lifestyle, luxuries and ego of Joffrey from Game of Thrones, but if he had as much sex as the rest of the cast.

I find it too easy to respond with cynicism to people who a lauded to the upper echelons of celebrity purely because they’re good enough to be the public face of a sport-come-business venture. I’ve always responded to effort more than anything else: if someone’s doing something for love rather than money I can get right behind them, whatever it is.4 Amateur level sport, or even just non-mainstream sport is right up my proverbial street (and my literal street in the case of a few events).

It seems to be a very British Olympics. I’ve read a few American blogs on the subject, and (depending on the blogger of course) there’s a real thirst to beat China and prove that the US is the best in the world at sport. I love that we hope Team GB will come fourth in the Medal Table – that’s British values right there. We know exactly how good we are on the world stage, and our dearest wish would be to achieve the honours we feel we deserve, nothing more. We can do cycling5 and sailing and a bit of rowing, and we’re happy with that, thank you very much.

If there’s two things us Brits enjoy it’s Credit Where It’s Due and a Good Underdog Story.6 As a nation, we can get behind anyone who is a talented competitor, or anyone who deserves a good win. We don’t have to have a native attachment to Michael Phelps to enjoy watching him cruise to victory, and Usain Bolt is exhilarating, wherever you’re from. Us Brits will give a hearty cheer for whoever’s at the back of the race, because hey – they deserve it too.

What’s so inspiring is that these values are clearly echoed across the world; athletes who don’t win gold are humble and appreciative of talent, displaying a sportsmanship that appears to be absent from mainstream, moneyed sports like Football (soccer), and I imagine Baseball and American Football are similar. Team GB’s Rebecca Adlington conceded defeat gracefully twice, as she accepted bronzes in the two races she was excpected to win gold in, and just this afternoon I watched Roger Federer give a poignant post-match speech, singing the praises of Andy Murray.

To me, this is exactly what sport is about; it’s why I’m finding the Olympics so enjoyable – I am delighted to find myself able to root for somebody simply because they’re the best at something. That’s what good sport can do – think of all the crises and conflicts going on in the world, and everyone’s put their problems aside for a fortnight for a big party round our house.

If I may quote John Candy’s character in Cool Runnings:

‘…It doesn’t matter tomorrow if they come in first or fiftieth. Those guys have earned the right to walk into that stadium and wave their nation’s flag. That’s the single greatest honor an athlete can ever have. That’s what the Olympics are all about.’

In fact I only have two complaints about the whole shebang: I don’t see why a horse rider should get a medal and the horse should only get a sugar lump, and I’m a bit disappointed that Team GB is not nicknamed the Heebie GBs.

***

On the topic of national pride, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so patriotic as I have done this past week. Last Thursday, I wrote a short post belaying my cynicism at our country’s ability to put on an overzealous display of extravagance. My immediate reaction was evident in the comments, but I thought it was a triumph. It was doubly exciting for me, because thanks to WordPress, I knew I’d be able to share these experiences with people across the world.7

What international readers may not realise is that the Ceremony, the Torch and who would even bring the flame to the stadium was shrouded in mystery until the last minute. Our biting wit kicked in, and many of us, myself included, expected something similarly farcical to what went down later last week8 :

Britain is an eccentric little huddle of islands, and to pander to the rest of the world’s expectations would have been a disservice. We instead invited the world to look at us and say ‘they’re an odd bunch of looneys aren’t they?’

My main worry about the ‘Open Cez’ was that it would be over-eager, facile, saccharine and very difficult to stomach, like so many of these ‘Big Shows’ are.9 I needn’t have worried, as it seemed out country’s tongue was firmly in it’s cheek.

From the moment Frank Turner (for my money our greatest unheard-of talent and most genuine singer) stepped out for a little pre-show concert, I knew we’d be fine. We had our green and pleasant land, and we had our dark satanic mills,10 but we also had Bean and the Queen,11 who I feel were not only hilarious, but were absolutely necessary. We pricked the bubble of the Monarchy, and hence the pomp and ceremony of the country, in a way that showed that even on the world stage, we are not afraid to laugh at ourselves, and that we don’t take ourselves too seriously.

I stopped worrying what the world might be thinking12 when the forty-foot Voldemort took to the skies. The NHS (and free healthcare for all in general) is a wonderful thing; everyone in the UK passes through it’s doors at least once in their life, no matter what their social or political background.

I loved the celebration of our music and popular culture. Every artist featured is a display of home grown talent, all of it worthy and none of it a product of a TV Talent Show’s machinations. I did wonder whether Sir Tim Berners-Lee sat concealed in that plywood house, looking out at the jubilent tweeting generation and thought ‘Is this what my legacy has begat? “#TeamBreezyLOL”’ but then the house lifted away from him life he was a lobster on a silver platter and he got the eyes of the world on him. That must have been pretty special.

I was a love-letter to Britain, from Britain. And it was marvelous, and Danny Boyle will no doubt be a Sir by this time next year.

I read a great tweet which summed it all up wonderfully, which I’ve promptly forgotten. I think it was said by a bloke called Ian, if that’s any use to you. Basically, Ian said this:

The 2012 London Olympic Opening Ceremony has reclaimed the word ‘patriotic’. Whilst bigots and the far right would use it to defend indefensible actions and to oppress those of a non-white-native origin, it once again means what it should always meant: love and gratitude for your country and fellow man.

Lovely stuff.

In conclusion, the London 2012 Olympics has rekindled in me a love for sport, greatness, and people the world over that has played second fiddle to cynicism for years. If I may, I’d like to once again quote Cool Runnings’s Sanka Coffie, I am feeling very Olympic today.

1 Humour, like many things, is subjective, and if you’re not enjoying my scribblings then that sentence would be the height of arrogance, and for that I am sorry.

2 This isn’t strictly true; I watch football for the punditry. I don’t mind who wins as long as someone says something stupid. Here’s a few gems from pundit Mark Lawrenson:
‘The longer the game went on, you got the feeling that neither side really wanted to lose.’

‘Call himself a keeper? He couldn’t keep bees!’

– and the joyously irreverent –

‘When I lived in rural Oxfordshire, I was walking home across a field when I stroked a cow. The damn thing butted me in the orchestras.’

3 I’m writing with footballer Christiano Ronaldo in mind. He has a barber’s chair waiting for him at half time to get his hair re-did. There are a lot of bad sportsmen, but Ronaldo’s arrogance is painful and infuriating to behold. He is accused often of playing football for himself rather than the team, and shows what a man thinks of himself when, during the penalty shoot-out if the last European Cup, he purposefully went last so that he could be Portugal’s hero. The scoring went as such that Spain had won before he could even step up, and every football fan in Europe went ‘AAAAAAAAH!’

4 Note: must be morally sound. If you love hitting geese with a carpet beater, and would do it even if nobody would pay you, please don’t mistakenly think you can count on my support.

5 Our champion cyclists Bradley Wiggins and Mark Cavendish were accused of being arrogant, but as it was put very succinctly by the anchors in the studio, they’ve been proven to be the best athletes in their field time and again, and not as a product of luck either. The phrase used by the commentator was ‘The Gold Medal is his to lose’, which is a spot-on phrase – statistically, Wiggins (in that instance) should be the best claimant for that accolade, and it’s up to him to put on a performance worthy of it. Aren’t words great when they’re used properly?

6 In the depths of my hard drive I have a document called ‘A Great British Underdog Story’, which is an outline for a novel. Aside from the title, there exists only one line of text: ‘It’s a story about an underdog who wins something.’ I look forward to critics praising it’s brevity and simplicity.

8 I love that the Major of our Capitol City got stuck on a zipline with two Union Jack flags. He didn’t drop them, and he didn’t call for help either. He’s Boris Johnson, Mayor of London, goddammit, and if he got himself into this mess then by jove he can get himself out of it. And he’s not dropping the Queen’s standard either!

9 If Her Majesty selected the playlist for her Diamond Jubilee this year I’d be surprised and bitterly, bitterly disappointed.

10 Dear the New York Times. Isambard Kingdom Brunel, as played by Kenneth Brannagh, is not a Charles Dickens character. He was a real bloke.

12 I know NBC aren’t doing a very good job, and I understand they cut a five minute tribute to the victims of the 7/7 Bombings, a terrorist attack that happened the day after we won the Olympic bid, which was a tactless, thoughtless thing to do. If we, or anyone else, had neglected 9/11 there’d be uproar. Apparently NBC also were quite ignorant of our nation and customs, which was nice of them. That said, NBC’s gaffes did also result in this gem:

Later today the London 2012 Olympics will begin, and we will welcome the world into our home, provided they’ve wiped their feet on the doormat.

There has been wide speculation as to what the opening ceremony will be. I devoutly hope that we don’t try to out-do the Chinese. We just can’t do it, and we aren’t that extravagant as a nation. Four years ago, we accepted the flame with a loveable fool waving a flag, a man who kicks footballs kicking a football and a disposable popstar with a bus for a dress.

We need something that celebrates the best of our nation, yet shows that for all our pomp and ceremony we don’t take ourselves too seriously: dignified and intelligent and pleasantly subdued, yet with an underlying sense of knowing humour about ourselves.

In my absence I have been nominated for not one, not three, but TWO WordPress blogging awards. Obviously it’s an honour, but I wish I hadn’t already squandered such a stonewall belter of a title as ‘The Award‘ in a previous post that was mainly about design and being lonely.

I have been nominated twice for the same award; the Lovely Blog Award, which can only mean I am especially lovely. I mustn’t let this accolade go to my head, but I am Officially Lovely now, and you can’t take that away from me.

Thank the person/people who nominated you and link back to them in your post.Share seven possibly unknown things about yourself.Nominate fifteen or so bloggers you admire.Contact the chosen bloggers to let them know and link back to them.

My thanks go to the irrepressibly wonderful Dating Bitch, or as she’s now known, Another Rolling Stone, who has had a hell of a time of it and is well-deserving of your love, and the fantastic Teala Mangano, whose witty insights into her year of singledom are at once hilariously sitcom worthy and a damning report on just how pathetic men are as a gender. Sorry ladies, I’d like to say that we aren’t all that bad, but we are. Thank god you love us anyway.

In fact, Teala nominated not just me, but the entirety of Britain. This is the first time I’ve ever been asked to represent my country, and whilst it is another honour, I will surely never be asked to again. On behalf of Britain, I will supply the seven obligatory little-known facts as necessitated by any recipient of the Lovely Blog Award:

1. The stereotypical Brit differs from country to country. Americans may like to think of us as a foppish, well spoken chaps, perhaps with monocles and fine moustaches, always up for a spot of rugger or cream teas and cucumber sandwiches at the cricket pavilion. Europeans know us as loutish, alcohol sodden xenophobes, exporting ignorance and bad sportsmanship to anywhere a cheap package deal flight will take us, and calling it ‘Britishness’. INGERLUUUUND.

Sadly, both stereotypes are true to an extent, although the majority of the populace are neither. Our Prime Minister comes from an incredibly privileged background and – I cannot stress this enough – does not represent in any way a good 90% of the population. He has had every advantage from birth, and was bred for power, and still couldn’t win full control of the government. (Our voting system is ridiculous).

On the other end of the social ladder, our football hooligans are world-renowned. Whilst some are born with status, and others earn it through achieving stuff, glory can be obtained vicariously through ‘sport’, or to give it its full title, ‘drinking heavily, wearing a coloured shirt and abusing and fighting people who wear a different coloured shirt, regardless of how well come overpaid men kick a ball around for an hour and a half.’ There’s a reason why Europe hates us, and I can’t help but feel it’s got something to do with our readiness to divide the continent geographically and then get our statistically most racist citizens to shout at each other. No wonder we never win Eurovision.

2. On that note, drinking age here is 18. In America, you’re actually have made reasoned decisions by the time you taste alcohol, and in many European countries they drink throughout their teens, but here in the UK it’s just the right amount of time for arrogant immaturity to dive smoothly into alcoholism, enabling the British to go forth and get merry, and make a fool of ourselves on the international stage. We let the country down, we let the Queen down, and most importantly, we let ourselves down. Maybe we’re trying to drown the memories of our once great empire…

3. Not everyone from Britain knows the Queen. Whenever a Brit goes to America, they tell the same story of how they were asked if they know the Queen. They always recount the question in a stupid sounding valley-girl accent, which I know is about as accurate a stereotype as all Brits knowing the Queen, and doesn’t do either populace any favours. Could the one Californian bint who keeps asking if we all know the Queen please pack it in, as she’s giving you all a bad rep. I assume you all know her.

4. The reason Brits are perceived to have bad dental hygiene is because most of our healthcare is on the NHS (National Health Service) and is hence free. (Or paid for indirectly via taxes.) Our dental stuff is paid for by us though, which means there’s a subconscious division of values. In the States, everything costs you, so it all gets paid for in equal measure, but here, a broken arm is financially less of a problem than off-white teeth. Please try to hide your disgust when we smile at you or else we shan’t want to smile for you at all.

5. Our finest export is our wit. You’re welcome.

6. Not all Brits drink tea, but those that do drink enough of it to perpetuate the stereotype.

7. Contrary to what our exported entertainment may lead you to believe, the British public does actually have taste. Whilst we currently can only offer you One Direction, Jedward and Piers Morgan, please don’t forget that we once produced such talent as The Beatles, The Smiths, The Who, The Rolling Stones, Elton John, The Office (U.K.) and Hugh ‘Dr. House’ Laurie. I cannot apologise enough.

In accordance with the other set of seven facts as denoted by my other award, I will also be happy to answer the first seven questions posted in comments, although I reserve the right to deftly avoid awkward or compromising details.

It simply remains to nominate fifteen (fifteen!?) bloggers what I like, so here’s that;

Lux’s Love Letters Are Dying – Lux’s blog itself is a great insight to the in-progress writer; book chapters and soliloquies sit easily alongside testing and tinkering with the written word, and it’s her evocative smut that the world should be going nuts over. She gets top billing, however, because her comments are always a welcome addition to anything I write.

Carly Beth’s Cloud – As bloggers go, Carly Beth is easily one of the most fascinating. It takes a certain type of person to live their life so openly, (I couldn’t do it, obviously) but few write it anywhere near as well. Carly’s pieces are so wonderfully satisfying, structurally; each post, whatever it explores, has a denouement where everything comes together. They’re funny, they’re poignant and they’re inspirational. Bravo.

Jane’s Wonderwimp – Jane is probably the most consistently hilarious blogger I’ve met. Her lists are a particular highlight, but what’s most endearing is the self-awareness and wicked sense of fun she’s built into her online persona. Always goes down easy.

Idiot-Prufs – This catalogue of lessons learned through idiocy is probably the nearest a blog gets to stand-up comedy. There’s a wicked sense of anarchic humour prevalent in all posts, and being an already-famous blogger, I’m sure you’ve noticed the same stellar quality in comments too.

Carrie Rubin – There’s only one way to say it; Carrie is an absolute pro, and her endorsement is a badge we should all wear with pride. Her insights into indie-publishing are particularly worth a look-in.

Speaker 7 – I’ve only been following Speaker 7 for a short while, but she is currently reading that Fifty Shades of Nonsense so that you don’t have to. It’s beyond refreshing to see somebody treat bad literature with the contempt it deserves; the contempt, indeed, that the author and publishing house obviously have for their readers. As well as this, she’s hilarious.

What a Silly Girl – If you enjoy my ramblings, firstly: thank you, and secondly, give the Silly Girl a try. You will find her loveable, salacious, candid, funny, and most importantly, needlessly analytical. Hi-five.

The Very Single Girl – A girl after my own heart; it seems many single people turn to WordPress to fill the void in their lives with the ramblings of strangers, and to convert our continuing gloom into humorous anecdotes for you romantically functional people to enjoy. This isn’t a very good plug is it?

Val’s The Vain’s World – I must admit, I had not expected someone who happily denotes themselves as ‘vain’ to be interesting, but Val is quite disarming in her casual charm.

Lace’s Life of Cards – I only discovered Lace’s blog this morning, but am already enjoying her irrepressible joie de vivre, as well as her (tarot influenced?) metaphor for this multifaceted existence we call life.

Joe’s Shitty Ideas – There’s an addictive mix of perplexity and contempt in these ever-worsening flashes of genius from the friend of a fool named Joe.

La Vie Selon Emily – Emily was one of my first blog chums, and as a linguistics student has a refreshingly playful way with words. She also helped me to come out of the Hipster closet, resplendent in my flannel shirt and figurative beard.

Stephanie’s Listful Thinking – She had me at ‘I believe that everything can be categorized and listed’. At the risk of sounding over-familiar, if more girls had her insatiable appetite for the meticulous, I’d be a happy man.

Subtle Kate – Another new acquaintance, but a welcome one. (Not that any new friends are unwelcome – the more the merrier! Come in, make yourselves at home.) Kate’s writing style is serene and breezy, which makes reading her darkest thoughts an absolute joy. I bet she’s in Australia now, holding a helium ballon with a smiley face on it and skipping merrily through a morgue.